Llew Wanders the World

The trip to Kampot was interesting from the start. Leaving my guesthouse at 10:00 meant that I would need to take a mini-bus instead of an actual bus-bus. The moto (motorcycle taxi) to the minibus station was an adventure in its own right. With a 25kg pack on my back, a daypack in front of me and a walking stick in my hand, the trip over alternately bumpy and gridlocked roads wasn’t an easy one.

Upon arriving at the station (in one of Phnom Penh’s many markets) my moto driver found a minibus headed where I wanted to go. At this point I should explain that “minibus” doesn’t mean a small bus, which sells tickets to passengers and runs on a regular schedule. The minibuses in Cambodia wait until they’re full of passengers headed for the same destination (or at least in the same direction) and head off immediately afterwards.

My pack was stowed (which is to say tied onto the back of the minibus, since the small luggage compartment was already overflowing) I managed to buy some bread and bottled water (actually with the number of vendors coming up and sticking their wares in the minibus windows, you’d be hard pressed to avoid it) and within a few minutes we were off.

There were several stops throughout town, picking up additional passengers, and by the time we were on the highway out of town there were four more than when we’d departed the station. Bringing the total to a barely credible twenty-two. Yes, you did read that right. In a vehicle pretty much the size of a Volkswagen van, there were crammed almost two dozen people. Four in the front seats, eight in the second row of seats (four on the seats, four facing them on an improvised bench,) five in my row (including a baby in his mother’s arms,) four in the back row and one standing up leaning out the side window.

Once again, I didn’t see much of the countryside during this trip.

Eventually the crowd started to thin out a bit, and I did manage a brief conversation with the one English speaker on the bus before he disembarked. Finally after an eternity on the bus (as it seemed to my alternately painful and numb bottom. It was really just over three hours) someone indicated to me that we’d arrived in Kampot.

NOTE: SINCE MY BATTERY RAN OUT PARTWAY THROUGH THERE AREN’T AS MANY PICTURES OF BOKOR NATIONAL PARK (ESPECIALLY OF THE RUINS) AS I’D LIKE. MAYBE I’LL FIX THIS AT SOME POINT…

I happily climbed out of the bus and collected my pack. In an instant I received the usual plethora of taxi offers and gladly accepted one to my chosen guesthouse. As it turned out I didn’t get to the one I’d chosen, since it had moved, but to another that now occupied its former site. But the new place looked nice enough, and at US$4 a night, I wouldn’t complain.

After a much needed shower, I went out for a quick walk around town. I walked down the street and to nearby Kampot Market. Since many vendors were closing up, I didn’t go in, but wandered a bit more until I reached the riverside where I sat to read and wait for the sunset.

As I sat, a young Khmer (I’m not sure if I’ve mentioned this before, but ethnic Cambodians are also known as Khmers) man on a bicycle approached me and asked if I’d mind talking for a bit so he could practice his English. I was delighted to do so, and before long a small crowd (okay, 3 or 4 people) had gathered. One of these men had the best English of the bunch and before long it was mostly he and I doing the talking. The fellow’s name was Sam Nang, or Lucky in translation. It turned out that he was almost finished his studies to become a nurse, and that he was also studying English. He also said that since the final year students at his school had exams, he had the next few days off and would be happy to show me around the area (and to practice his English) by the time dark arrived, he’d learned a bit more English, I’d learned a tiny bit more Khmer, and we’d arranged to meet at the same spot the following morning.

The next day, we met at the appointed time (10:30, since I’d wanted to get a good rest to help fight the minor cold I had.) We’d planned a walking tour of the town for the day and started by heading south then across the road bridge across the river. On the far bank we headed north up a dirt road to the town’s orphanage, where Sam Nang new some of the workers. We stopped in to say hello and ended up sitting down for lunch with the kids! I learned a bit more Khmer over lunch, including samlaw coco, (a vegetable soup) and srao (rice) which, along with sweet fried pork was our lunch. All through lunch the kids (that’s Sam Nang on the left) laughed and played, peeking at me from behind one another or their own hands. I was surprised to learn that orphans there could stay until they finished university and had their tuition paid for by the orphanage. I was more than delighted to make a donation to the place before we left.

After lunch we carried on up the road, across the railway bridge, and then still further north until we were clearly out of town. We passed by several small villages, all of which had at least one traditional coffee shop.

As we walked west along another dirt road, we were passed by a sugar palm sap vendor on a bicycle. With Sam Nang’s language skills, I procured a litre of it for us to share. palm sap is harvested by rural residents who climb up the trees to tap them near the base of their leaf clusters. It was astonishingly sweet and had an odd, woody sort of undertone to it. I wouldn’t call it either pleasant or unpleasant, just… different.

We walked on, coming to the local pagoda or Buddhist temple. As we walked in, we passed the pagoda school and dozens of children came running towards us, all yelling “hello! hello!” with the odd “what is your name?” thrown in for good measure. They left us as we crossed over the bridge to the pagoda itself and headed back to class.

It was very interesting to see a modern, functioning Buddhist temple. While most of the ones I’d seen already were working places, they were all historical buildings and most of them were tourist attractions, and were clearly different as a result. This building was clearly much newer and, while very prettily decorated with paintings illustrating Buddha’s life, was not as glamorous as the others I’d visited.

Before departing we also stopped at an outdoor classroom where novice monks were taking an English lesson. They were uniformly friendly, and I hoped I’d be able to give them a bit of practice in their speech. Unfortunately it didn’t work out that way since every one of them (the teacher included) lacked speaking skills in English. Sam Nang assured me that they understood when I spoke, but had never really tried speaking in English themselves and so couldn’t really reply. Odd, but not uncommon from my experiences in Cambodia.

After the pagoda, we walked back into town, passing by the railway station in the process. I’d learned earlier that no passenger trains ply the Phnom Penh-Kampot route any more, but there was actually an antiquated freight train in the station when we passed by. Heading further into town, we took a walk through the market, stopping at a stall for some Vietnamese noodles. I wasn’t 100% confident in the cold spring rolls and un-peeled vegetables, but I figured if it was okay for my aspiring nurse companion, it was okay for me. Before we left, we passed by a clothing shop to say hello to Sam Nang’s (hopefully) girlfriend. Outside the market, we headed south through the town and passed by the preparations for a Cambodian wedding, which looked almost out of place sticking out into the roadway as they did.

Our walk concluded with a trip down the river to Kampot’s quiet port (Sihanoukville, a couple of hours away by road, long ago took over the title of Cambodia’s shipping capital.) We stopped along the way at a beautiful park with a large pond at its centre. Upon arriving at the port, we had another rest to help Sam Nang’s ailing foot. He hadn’t mentioned it before, but it was unsurprising I suppose, since we’d walked almost 20km and he later told me he rarely walked more than one or two.)

We finally headed back up the river to our starting point, passing by a monstrous traffic jam of vehicles waiting while work was done on the road bridge. As we parted ways, we made plans to meet the next day for a trip further afield. Before returning to my guesthouse I purchased two of the small (perhaps 1kg each) watermelons (Aulot in Khmer) that seem to be sold everywhere in Cambodia.

The following morning was Christmas Day. Instead of sitting around the tree with my family opening stockings and gifts as I’d done the past 29 years, I met up with Lucky at 08:00 and climbed on to his motor scooter for a drive to the abandoned French colonial resort town of Kep. The drive to Kep was quite pretty, taking us past huge salt pans, where the sun turns seawater into table salt; a small Cambodian Muslim community; more of the flat rice paddy/palm tree landscape that covers so much of the country and finally into flat plains where individual hills rose around us in every direction.

At Kep we wandered around town a bit, admiring its prettily crumbling buildings and also took a walk along the beach where we met up with a Slovenian woman Sam Nang new from her week or so of working in the orphanage (it seemed to me that he new pretty much everyone in Kampot!) After our wander about the town was finished we got back on the road, this time destined for Kompong Trach, the original home of Sam Nang’s family. On the way we stopped in town at one of the small roadside petrol station/garages for a bit of maintenance on the scooter.

We rode on, leaving the town and heading further and further into the country until we arrived at Sam Nang’s ancestral home. While his mother and father moved to Kep many years ago, most of his family still was there when we arrived. His uncle welcomed us with open arms and seemed overjoyed to see not only his nephew but me too! The land was very quiet and beautiful, with rice drying in the sun on woven mats all over. The only houses anywhere nearby were those owned by various members of his family.

After introductions to everyone, Sam Nang showed me the house where he lived before leaving for Kampot, as well as the patch of land that had been his to work and the mango trees he’d planted as a boy. He also grabbed four coconuts for us to drink the milk from when we returned and had a seat outside his uncle’s house.

This particular uncle’s home was in the traditional Cambodian style, built on stilts with space underneath for storage and relaxing during the day. We sat down on the platform beneath the house to partake in the lunch that we’d been invited to stay for. While only the immediate family of about five people was eating, many other relatives gathered ’round and talked with us as we ate. Only two of Sam Nang’s cousins spoke any English, so most of this was through translation. The matriarch of the family, Sam Nang’s grandmother, seemed particularly delighted to learn about me, my home and my family. She was, if anything, even happier at my attempts to speak Khmer!

One of Lucky’s uncles was also very keen on learning more about Canada, and I was very happy to give him my translated answers. The only questions that made me a little uncomfortable were ones that dealt with money (e.g. my salary back home, the cost of my trip) since they served to highlight the huge differences in wealth between my hosts and me. Even so, everyone was uniformly pleasant and even the people not involved in the conversation (mostly some of the many young cousins) had smiles on their faces throughout.

Lunch was quite good and consisted of a meat and vegetable soup, fried pork (which was particularly good), barbequed fish and a sort of fish salsa eaten by dipping lettuce leaves into the bowl (I have to admit that this last item wasn’t really all that pleasant, but I did manage to eat a bit of it, since it seemed to be the highlight of the meal.)

After lunch we talked some more with Sam Nang’s relatives. We further delighted the children by taking photos of them and then showing them the results on the LCD display of my digital camera. We still further delighted everyone by putting on a show of my 30 or so Khmer words. A dozen or more photos and maybe an hour later, it was time to go. We said happy goodbyes to everyone, especially Grandma, and climbed back on to the scooter, me waving to everyone as we went.

It would be hard to top that, and while the Kompong Trach caves didn’t manage, they were still very pleasant. The caves are located in one of the many hills that rise up above the plains of southern Cambodia, and are significant not only because of their natural prettiness, but also since they have a Buddhist monastery within. We took a short walk through the caves, guided by a small boy with a wax and palm leaf torch. After leaving the first, we climbed up the hill, then squeezed down into a second which we explored for a while longer before returning to the entrance to start our forty minute return journey and ensure we got back before dark.

Before returning to my guesthouse, we made one final side trip. I’d already met Sam Nang’s extended family, so it was only appropriate that I’d also meet his immediate relatives. They lived a ten-minute ride beyond Kampot, on the river, and like everyone else we’d met, seemed overjoyed to meet me. We sat in his aunt’s coffee shop drinking strong, super sweet Cambodian coffee and talking with everyone who came along, including Sam Nang’s aunt and mother. Like everyone I’d met so far, all present just loved my limited Khmer language skills and like many others commented on how much I smiled and how friendly I looked. Throughout, Sam Nang’s aunt made jokes about needing to find me a nice Cambodian girl to marry.

After we finished our coffee we took a very short walk up the river to his house, where we met his father. I was invited into their home and Lucky’s mom made a tremendous fuss to ensure I was comfortable before settling back down to repairing a fishing net. We departed not too long after and made one final stop before returning to Kampot.

Sam Nang taught English to several local children, and had hoped I could visit with them so they could get some practice talking to a native speaker. As I’d been growing accustomed to, the entire family was incredibly friendly and welcoming. They were very happy to talk about anything and everything (though under pressure the kids English was a bit rough, so a fair bit of translation was still required.) Before we left, they even gave us a couple of guava for the trip!

Upon arriving back in town, I was ready for dinner, and thought it only polite to invite Lucky, given how kind he’d been to me all day. We sat down at a beautiful restaurant on the lake and had one of my most memorable Christmas dinners ever.

Before parting ways that night, we made plans to meet once more the following morning before I headed off to Bokor National Park.

When I returned to the guesthouse, I discovered that it wasn’t time for bed just yet. The wonderful owners were holding a Christmas party for their guests! there was lots of food, drinks and music, all of it provided out of the kindness of their hearts. For many hours more I talked with guests, both Cambodian and foreign. I didn’t have any specific plans for getting to Bokor the next day, but as the evening went on, I found myself hooked up with several other people who were headed that way. Even more importantly, I (and everyone else) danced. From traditional Cambodian music to clones of western pop, everyone loved to dance. Perhaps most memorable was one older Cambodian lady who danced up a storm with any partner she could drag out there!

My only pause from that party was to head across the road to a different Cambodian Christmas party, this one in a school. The pupils had long since gone home, but the teachers were still whooping it up in raucous fashion with music, drink and dancing.

Somehow or other I eventually found my way to bed.

The next morning I met Sam Nang bright and early. I’d wanted to get him a dictionary he’d mentioned as a Christmas/thank you gift the previous day, but he’d kept me so busy I didn’t have time! We took a quick trip to the bookstore, where he picked out the one he needed and I wrote an inscription in the front, thanking him for being such a great friend to a stranger and wishing him luck in his studies. We then headed across the street to the photo shop so to get a picture taken for him to remember our couple of days from. Finally we stopped at the market, where he ran inside and came back out with a traditional Cambodian scarf he’d had made for me. He was apologetic that it had cost less than the gift I’d got him, but I assured him (completely truthfully) that I couldn’t possibly have hoped for a better reminder of our time together.

We returned to the guesthouse right on time for my trip up to Bokor, and said our goodbyes each of us (I’m sure) hoping that we do get to meet again.

Bokor national park is very large, and almost none of it gets seen by visitors. The main attraction is a weathered and battle scarred former French colonial hill resort in the southern part of the park, near Kampot. The resort was originally abandoned during French Indochina’s war of independence, then re-settled, then abandoned again during the Khmer Rouge’s fight for power and took still more abuse when the Vietnamese and Khmer Rouge fought over the strategic location during Vietnam’s invasion of the country in the late 1970s. I’d seen a small feature on the hill station on an Australian travel TV show while I’d been there, and this was part of the reason I’d made the trip.

Despite the gorgeous weather, the trip up to Bokor wasn’t entirely comfortable. There were seven of us in the back of the pickup truck, bouncing up and down as we climbed probably the second worst road I’ve ever been on. Thank goodness for the mattresses on the bed, or it would have been far, far worse. As we climbed into the hills behind Kampot, the air grew cooler and the vegetation changed from the golden fields of rice and palm trees into thick forest.

Our first stop was at the former royal residence, which once housed the king and his concubines. The view from the top was lovely, but faint, since the haze that seemed to permeate Cambodia’s air was heavy.

After a short further drive we climbed out of the pickup and walked into the woods. At first the forest was fairly thick on either side of the track. As we walked everyone was provided with a clear example of how small the world has become. A Maltese lady received a phone call on her mobile from her mother in Malta while walking through the jungle in Cambodia, thousands of kilometres away. She and her husband had been noisy throughout the walk, and this was particularly irritating, but I had to admit it does make for an interesting story.

After a while the forest thinned out and we walked into a large clearing. As we did, we heard and saw a rustling of leaves in the distance. It was clearly a large animal of some kind. We all stopped and watched, but didn’t see anything. Our guide told us that he suspected it was a tiger, since the only one he’d ever seen was known to live in this part of the park. It’s possible it was just a wild pig, but I’ll forever imagine that I just missed a tiger slipping into the forest as I approached.

The walk continued through the forest, with little other wildlife to show for it, save for a hornbill that we scared out of the trees. This large bird was incredibly noisy, sounding almost like a helicopter as it took off.

The final portion of our hike took us across a high plateau whose soil consisted almost entirely of nutrient poor white sand. Dotted all over the plain were carnivorous plants, both large pitcher plants and beautiful tiny sundews.

After we finished our hike, we stopped by a waterfall (merely a trickle in the dry season) and enjoyed a lunch of Cambodian curry (similar to Thai curry, made with coconut milk, lime leaves and other spices) and bread.

After lunch it was time for the main attraction. We drove still further up the miserable road to the hill station itself. Our first stop was the former hotel and casino. This was the largest building in the area, and probably the most photogenic. From the outside it was very pretty, with orange lichen overcoming the old concrete. Just metres away, the remains of the parapet delineate the edge of a cliff, which overlooks Kampot, the surrounding countryside and the ocean out beyond. All the while, clouds swirled beneath, obscuring, then revealing the brilliant green forest below.

Inside the hotel was another matter entirely. It ranged from eerie to downright spooky. The only light available shone in through the smashed windows, with remnants of a few panes still in place. Wandering around I could hear echoes of other visitors voices and footsteps as I slipped through the graffiti covered, bullet scarred hallways. The design of the place added to the atmosphere. It wasn’t at all clear where hallways led and stairways would appear out of nowhere, leading to entirely independent sections of the upper levels. I imagined that it wouldn’t be terribly difficult to get lost inside, especially at night. I eventually did find my way to the upper levels, where the remains of sandbags from the most recent battles still sit near the handrails.

Once on the balcony it was a much more pleasant place, though the strong wind made it cool. I’d seen many beautiful butterflies throughout Cambodia and Thailand, and finally found one that would sit still. So buffeted was it by the wind that every time it tried to take off it would be blown back to its resting spot.

I headed back inside and continued my wandering through the once opulent casino. All around things were smashed, corroded and broken. The wiring had been pulled out of the stucco walls everywhere and cracked tile and brick littered the floor. I came to the conclusion that the place could give Angkor a run for its money as the most photogenic spot in the country.

Eventually we climbed back into the truck. I was dropped off at the ranger station where I set up my tent (there are dormitory beds there, but I wanted to sleep outside.)

By the time I was done, the rest of the group was long gone and I was left alone with the few rangers (none of whom spoke English or French) and then, as I wandered off away from the ranger station, alone entirely.

I followed worn but disused trails in and around all of the buildings, exploring the insides of several as I passed. I walked to another overlook out onto the misty forest and then made my way up to the bizarre UFO-topped water tower that dominates the skyline of the hill station. By the time my wanderings took me back to the hotel/casino, the sun was setting and had a warming effect on the exterior of all the buildings in sight.

After having seen the best of the sunset, I headed down a stone stairway towards the ranger station and had just laid down on the road to take a photo of the church in the distance when, improbably, along came a pair of motorcycles.

There were three riders, all Cambodian and the fellow who was alone asked me if I wanted to join them to watch the sunset. I’d already seen it, and there wasn’t much left, but I agreed.

We headed up the hill. Two of them headed inside the casino while I sat outside talking with my driver. I learned that they’d come from Phnom Penh that day and the two men were senior civil servants.

By the time we returned to the ranger station it was well and truly dark. I slipped into my tent intent on an early night so I could get up for sunrise the next morning. It was not to be though. Within a couple of minutes my new friends asked if I wanted to join them for a drink outside. I thought it impolite to refuse, and before I knew it we’d sat and gone through a small bottle of Thai whisky mixed with coke. For most of the time they sat speaking Khmer to one another, but were generally very hospitable, refilling my glass regularly and stopping to speak with me in English and to teach me a few more Khmer words. All except for the woman, who was the wife of one of the two. She simply sat quietly, scarcely saying a word.

By this time it had grown quite cool. I had my rain jacket on, while my companions were all bundled in blankets. The volume of their conversation increased as we drank. The woman was still quiet, however, only occasionally getting up for new cans of coke or packets of instant noodles (they ate them dry as a snack food, as I often do to the amusement of other westerners.)

After our second bottle was complete, one of the men announced that he had to walk up to the nearby monastery to return a flashlight that one of the monks had leant him earlier. It sounded like an interesting walk, so I accompanied them up. We walked along a small trail, never in any real danger of losing it since, while the full moon was still obscured by haze, the clouds around us had disappeared.

We arrived at the monastery and all was dark and quiet. I was afraid that the monks might be asleep, but the fellow with the flashlight walked right up to the front door and yelled inside. A fairly lucid (and presumably not recently woken) voice answered and in a moment a monk appeared at the door and reclaimed his light.

We wandered back down the hill, stopping for a look inside the church, which I hadn’t yet seen, on the way. The echo would have made the place a lot spookier, had it not been for the loud inebriated conversation of my companions.

I arrived back at the ranger station fully expecting to go to sleep, but another bottle appeared. By the end of this one the three Khmers were ready for a tour of the grounds and I was happy to take them (I suppose in truth it was really just the men who were ready, but the lady accompanied us anyway.)

We took the same route I’d walked earlier in the day, climbing in the windows of some buildings, then walking out the doors. This meant that I was in the odd position of being a guide for these Cambodians in their own country. Our ramble across country returned us to the ranger station at 00:30 or 01:00 and finally I managed to get to bed.

To be woken, astonished, by one of the Khmers a few hours later just before sunrise. It was undeniably very pretty, but I felt miserable and stayed up just long enough to watch the sunrise and to be polite before heading back into my tent for more sleep. I woke again to say goodbye as they prepared to leave on the ride back to Phnom Penh.

The night before I’d been amazed by the fact that they simply threw empty packages and containers on the ground in the national park especially when there was a garbage can nearby. I would’ve felt rude doing it in front of them, thereby implying that they were slobs (which I suppose, they were) but as soon as they left I began cleaning up.

By the time I was done I just had time to pack up my tent and then take a walk up to the church to see it in daylight before I was due to be picked up by my guides from the previous day.

They arrived early, and took me up for lunch with their friend who maintains the communications towers on the mountaintop (the Australian TV show I’d seen hadn’t even hinted at their presence, a few hundred metres from the hill station.) We had a pleasant and friendly lunch before we rejoined that day’s tour group for a second lunch and then a trip down the mountain.

The road from hell was just as bad on the way down as it had been on the way up, though the back of the truck was a little less full, so it wasn’t quite so unpleasant. After dropping off some of the party who wanted to go hiking (I didn’t have time, since I planned to return to Phnom Penh that day, and others simply didn’t want to go) we returned to Kampot.

We had a brief stop at another of those bridge-repair-induced traffic jams, but before long I was at the taxi station, waiting for enough passengers to fill a car for the return trip to Phnom Penh. The trip back was almost infinitely more comfortable than the one there, since it was in a taxi instead of a minibus. The fare was correspondingly higher (I would have been happy to be one of the four in the back seat for $3, but I figured I could afford the $5 for the front seat more than the other passengers so I ended up taking it.)

Although it was more comfortable, I think the crampedness on the way to Kampot must have been a blessing. Because of it, I hadn’t been forced to see the way the vehicle was being driven. It was bad enough that the taxi had its steering wheel on the wrong side (the right, in a country that drives on the right side of the road) but our driver very clearly agreed with the general Cambodian wisdom which says that when you want to pass you simply honk your horn and do so, without much regard to what might be in the oncoming lane. Since there are few cars and trucks, this works well enough (the motorcycles are maneuverable enough to get out of the way when they see you coming) but it still made me uncomfortable. Also discomfiting was the way our driver ALWAYS believed he had the right of way when arriving at a single lane bridge or intersection.

In the end I made it back to Phnom Penh alive, and very relieved when I walked into the guesthouse that had been recommended to me by some people in Kampot.

This time I most definitely have to thank Sam Nang, my friend in Kampot. He was super friendly every moment I new him, and never asked anything in return for his time. So generous was his nature that I even had to insist on paying for fuel for his moto and other expenses incurred solely as a result of taking me around. Perhaps most importantly of all, he gave me a friend and even a family to spend my Christmas day with. So, thank you Sam Nang. I feel very happy and privileged to have met you and I hope we get to meet again some day!

Tags: Cambodia

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